


a dead man’s sweetheart

by havisham



Category: Original Work
Genre: Altered States, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Betrayal, Childhood Friends, Demons, Dubious Consent, Ghosts, Grand Guignol, Haunted Houses, Horny But Stupid, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Naive Innocents In Peril, References to Shakespeare, Sloppy Makeouts, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:54:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25869268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: Charles Hatfield, a nobody, has been invited to tea by mistake. What follows after -- a devilish secret society, an old-fashioned ghost story and perhaps a murder or two -- could hardly be helped.
Relationships: Doomed Heir to a Cursed Estate/His Best Friend/The Occult Dilettante They Both Profess to Dislike
Comments: 35
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: 100 words of suspicious tea drinkers 👀

_Charles, join me for tea this afternoon. I long to see you_ , said the note that had been slipped underneath Charles Hatfield’s door that morning. The handwriting could not be mistaken — it belonged to Lord Erskine, the most scandalous student at St. Phineas College, —— University. Charles could not imagine why in the world Erskine — beautiful, clever, the very glass of fashion — should invite him for tea. Charles was certain in the knowledge of his own obscurity and dullness — he was but a scholarship boy. But still, the faintly scented note gave him a thrill. He would go see what Lord Erskine wanted from him, even if it was simply to tease him for his hope and credulity.

When Erskine opened the door to his rooms that afternoon, there was not even a flicker of recognition on his lovely face. “May I help you?”

Charles felt his face grow red. “I’m sorry — I — tea. I must go.”

Even as he spun around to run away and lick his wounds, Erskine clasped his shoulder. Firm. He was stronger than he looked. “You’re Hatfield, aren’t you? A clever chap. I told them to get Enfield, but I don’t mind you. Come inside.”

Miserably, Charles did what he asked. Of course, it all made sense now. Charles Enfield was absolutely the sort of man that Erskine would have for tea. A jaw like a nutcracker, had Enfield. Monstrously strong and horrendously rich.

But Charles was determined to put Enfield from his mind. Instead, he looked around eagerly. Erskine’s rooms seemed much more comfortable than his own. There was a fireplace, already lit and cheerful. There, perched on top of the wardrobe was the stuffed crocodile that Erskine had stolen with such hilarity from Professor Antwerp last spring. And there, hung on the east-facing wall, was a large silver mirror that was rumored to be haunted.

The tea things were already laid out. Charles, who has missed Hall that day out of nervousness, felt his stomach rumble embarrassingly. There was a plate of petit-fours and biscuits. The smell of buttery sugar reached out to him with an intoxicating pull.

“Shall I be the mother?” Erskine asked him. Charles looked at him in half-bewilderment. In his inner turmoil, he had almost forgotten that Erskine was still there.

“Yes, thank you. I’d make a mess of it, I’m afraid,” Charles said as he was led to his seat. Erskine found his spot opposite of him and studied Charles closely. Erskine’s eyes were very blue — Charles had heard it described as being cornflower blue, but he’d never seen a cornflower in his life, being from the city. But they were arresting — almost hypnotic.

He wore his dark hair long and loose, much to the disapproval of the older faculty. It could not be helped — Erskine was the very picture of a young Romantic, though he was fifty years too late for that crowd.

Charles accepted a cup of tea from Erskine and took a sip before he realized he hadn’t said how he liked it — but then again, Erskine hadn’t asked. But it was the perfect sip nonetheless, not too sweet and not too dark.

“Tell me something about yourself, Charles,” Erskine said, in a low, intimate voice. Almost without meaning to, Charles did, starting with what had been floating up in his mind first.

“Is it true about you and Master Fry? I couldn’t believe it myself …”

Instead of looking offended at the insinuation, Erskine looked as if he was going to laugh. Suddenly, Charles felt weak, his hands going nerveless. He dropped his cup and saw it shatter against the parquet floor. With an apology already on his lips, he slipped into unconsciousness.

*

When Charles woke, he was in a place quite unlike Erskine’s cozy parlor. It was cold and damp here and he seemed to be tied down to a stone table. He struggled but his bonds held fast. A masked man approached him — from his dark hair, his eyes — Charles knew it was Erskine.

Erskine leaned down and kissed his lips. Charles gagged and tried to spit back at him, but he failed miserably. Erskine’s laugh floated over the high vaulted room. There was a low murmur around them and Charles saw more people approach them. Like Erskine, they were masked. Like Erskine also, they were nude.

“If you survive your initiation, come and call on me again, Charles,” Erskine said. “I know exactly how you like your tea.”

They descended on him and Charles thought, with desperate longing, that the tea truly had been the best he had had in his entire life.


	2. Chapter 2

Charles was now standing in a courtyard. He recognized the place -- it was near the chapel. He crossed it almost every day. Now, it was covered in snow, freshly fallen. He shivered. Only a thin cotton shift protected him from the cold and his feet were bare. He did not have the slightest idea of how he had gotten here -- his last memory was of the strange meeting with Erskine and what had happened afterwards. Or had it happened at all? Perhaps he had taken ill and dreamed it … 

“Young man, what are you doing?” called a voice across the courtyard. Charles blinked and saw Mr. Timmons, the porter, coming towards him. “Being publicly drunk, and so close to Christmas … Have you no shame, sir?” 

“Please,” Charles began to say, but could not continue. His tongue felt as though it had been cut. The memories came flooding back to him at once. It hadn’t been a dream. 

*

_It was beastly hot, being surrounded by all these men, crowding in and touching him. Charles wanted desperately to escape, to get away from whatever they meant to do with him. He’d heard rumors of the secret societies at university but he had thought them mostly dedicated to drinking and sodomy, but for those who sought to do both._

_As if conjured by his thoughts, someone poured wine down Charles’ throat, loosening his bonds somewhat so he could be elevated and not choke. At least, he thought it was wine, though it was stickier and more sweet than any wine he had had before. Its effects were immediate. His whole body felt strange, as if it belonged to someone else._

_“Are you a virgin, Hatfield?” someone queried. He reached out and tweaked Charles’ nipple and laughed at him trying to shy away. “We can relieve that burden from you, if you’d like.”_

_“Leave off,” said Erskine lazily. “Mr. Hatfield’s purity wouldn’t be besmirched by just anyone today.”_

_“Just you, Magnus?” said someone else, to the general amusement of the crowd. Erskine rolled his eyes and came closer to Charles. He had taken off his mask -- which Charles saw now was in the shape of Greek god, perfect but for the terrible emptiness in its eyes._

_But someone had decided to disobey Erskine and Charles felt a flush of warmth against his cock. A warm, wet mouth descended upon it and he cried out, horrified and pleased._

*

Mr. Timmons was aware that Charles was not attending to his words. He tutted loudly about the state of young men these days and seemed that he would call for further aid. However, it was then that Lord Erskine emerged, in his shirtsleeves. Indeed, the only person who was dressed for the weather was Mr. Timmons, a fact that he certainly made clear. 

“I was looking for you, Charles,” said Erskine, taking him by the hand and trying to lead him away. He threw a brief but charming smile to Mr. Timmons and thanked him for finding his lost friend. Mr. Timmons shook his head. “Unfortunate business, this. The Dean will have to be informed, of course. Undergraduates wandering around, drunk and half-naked! What’s the college coming to, I wonder?” 

“You needn’t inform him, it was just a youthful mistake, after all,” Erskine said. He reached out and slipped something into Mr. Timmons’ pocket. “Young Charles here doesn’t know how to hold his liquor yet.” 

Mr. Timmons harrumphed and said, “Then I can depend on you to see to him, Lord Erskine?” 

“Of course. I’ll bring him back to my rooms,” Erskine said. 

“No!” Charles said, finally finding his voice. “I must go back home. Please let me.” 

Both Erskine and Mr. Timmons looked at him askance. “You’re far from home, young man,” said Mr. Timmons doubtfully. 

But Erskine smiled and nodded. “I’ll take you to your room, Charles. No fear.” 

Charles expressed his gratitude by vomiting on Erskine’s shoes. Through the thick fog of shame and sickness, he heard Erskine tell the porter to summon the doctor at once. 

*

_It was hours later or perhaps just minutes. Charles had been completely cut loose now and brought over to one of the low-slung beds, away from the altar stone. He could see more clearly what sort of place he was in. It seemed as though it had once been a chapel of some kind and there were still signs of ecclesiastical decor, though someone had done their level best to tart the place up. Beyond the altar was something very much like a throne. Though his head felt muzzy, Charles fancied that he spied someone sitting on it, though when he looked again, it was empty._

_“Are you hungry?” Erskine asked him, appearing suddenly at Charles’ side. Without ceremony, he offered him a sweetmeat, which Charles took without question. It was delicious and the taste of almost burned sugar lingered long on his tongue, even when Erskine kissed him._

_Suddenly, there was an outcry from the others. “The Lord has come! The Lord has come!”_

_The throne in front of them was occupied. The thing sitting on it was in the shape of a man -- a young and vigorous man, but he was no doubt a demon. His red eyes and cloven hooves saw to that, and if there was any doubt about the matter, then the twisted horns upon his head would put that to rest._

_Erskine’s breath was warm against Charles’ ear. “That is our master. You will need to please him if you wish to make your escape from here.”_

*

Charles had never been more glad to be in his cramped and uncomfortable rooms again. It was still in a state of disorder from Will’s sudden departure for home the week before. Charles wondered if Will had returned or if he had been delayed by the weather. He wondered this in order to avoid thinking of why Erksine was still here, sitting on the chair beside Charles’ sickbed, with a newspaper spread out on the sheets. 

“They say there will be a silver rush again,” Erskine said, without sense. Charles’ head began to pound alarmingly. There was a knock at the door and then it opened. Both of their attention turned toward it. Could it be the doctor, coming so quickly? 

But it was Will at the door, his hat in his hand. The cold of the evening had brought fresh color to his cheeks. Will was a fair and handsome lad, the son of a squire and Charles’ best friend. They loved each other dearly.

Will took in the scene before him with a look of incredulity. “Sir?” he said to Erskine. “What are you doing here?” 

“Will! How is your father?” Charles asked, though he knew his question was ill-timed. Erskine threw him a shrew look and turned his attention back to Will.

“Will Sprouse! You’re Charles’ childhood friend, aren’t you? It’s very charming to have such things,” Erskine said. “You two went to Temple Grove together, I’m to understand?” He held out his slim white hand to be shaken, but Will ignored it. 

“I’ve heard as soon as I returned that Charles was found dead drunk and in your company, Lord Erskine. I could not believe such a report, as my friend does not drink.” 

“He can drink,” Erskine said, “though he’ll need more practice before he can hold his own.” 

“You’re a blackguard,” Will said bluntly. “I’m not afraid of you.” 

Erskine considered this and stood. “Then you don’t know much about me.” 

“Could you two please shut up?” Charles said weakly. He felt a considerable amount of strain upon him but felt almost ignored in the conflict between the two men. The doctor then arrived and Erskine departed, saying he would call on Charles again. 

*

_The demon could not be real, Charles knew. His senses could not be trusted now, not with all he had swallowed and eaten. It only looked like a horned and goatish man, who waited with a bored expression as he accepted worship. His expression changed once Charles had been pushed to the front. Charles’ knees grew weak at the smell of him, animal and dark. He kneeled and reached out to grasp at the creature’s thighs. Charles could feel the demon stroke the top of his head and when he looked up, he saw the gleam of a heavy signet ring. Something about that ring gave Charles a moment’s pause. He almost recognized it._

_But even so — he could not help but open his mouth to receive his benediction. How odd it tasted, a demon’s cock. He would taste it long after._

*

“I suppose everyone knows what happened to me,” Charles said bleakly from his bed the next day. He had missed his second tutorial in as many days, but at least he now had medical leave to do so. Will was by his side, occupied with his own work. Tellingly, however, he had not left Charles’ side since he had returned, save to attend his own tutorials.

It was a touching thing, but Charles could not help but feel terribly guilty over it. Will had his own grief to overcome. “Will, did you — were you able to make it in time to see your father?”

Will frowned. “No, he was dead when I arrived. I mean, it wasn’t a shock to me — my father’s health has been failing since I was a child.”

“But still — I am sorry to be so useless to you now,” Charles said, reaching out to hold his hand. Will grasped it awkwardly. There was a new adornment on his hand — Charles’ eyes could not leave it. It was a blood-red signet ring and he knew he saw it only a day before.

Charles dropped his hand. “What …”

“It’s my father’s ring,” Will said quickly. “I’m obliged to wear it now, don’t mind it.” 

Charles simply could not believe it, though he badly wanted to. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sir, that’s my emotional support school chum.

Once upon a time, Charles had been a possessor of two fond parents. His father had been older than his mother, having been married before to a lady of quality, who had died giving birth to his daughter, Cassandra. It was that same Cassandra who Jane, Charles’ mother, had been employed to teach. The relationship between THE governess and the pupil had been fair, but between the employer and the employee had been better. Their resulting marriage had been the talk of the county for such a time as they both lived and that was not long. 

Charles had a distinct memory — perhaps it was his very first, most certain one — of romping around the garden by himself and falling down, much to his own amusement and the displeasure of the kitten he was attempting to play with. Two passerbys paused to watch his antics through the iron fence.

“Poor child!” one of them said aloud. Both he and his companion were thickly veiled with black crape, as if in the most profound mourning. “He does not know what he has lost.”

“He will soon enough,” said his companion and Charles sat down heavily on the ground and tugged at the kitten’s tail. He suffered a scratch on his fat little hand and cried enormously, expecting at any moment that his mother would make haste to comfort him. But she did not appear and so he had to dry his own tears. His watchers had gone and he was left alone.

His parents had died only days of each other of a fast-acting fever. The doctor recommended that most of the contents of the house be burnt as to avoid the infection. Charles was packed up and sent to live with his half-sister, Cassandra, who had been married only a fortnight.

This was not a congenital arrangement. Cassandra and her husband felt the strain of managing a child not yet two who ever asked where his mother had gone. When the young couple sought to have children of their own, the situation about them grew more and more cramped, even as resentments grew.

Finally, it was determined that Charles would be sent to live with a distant cousin of his father’s, a Doctor Penderghast and his wife. The Penderghasts were a childless couple who often lived abroad but now was looking to spend some years in England. They were kind and knowledgeable people. They treated Charles, now six years old, as close to an adult as they wished. It was among the doctor’s books that Charles found the first stirring of intellectual interest in his life — for Cassandra and her husband did not approve of any books but the Bible and perhaps a copy of _A Pilgrim’s Progress_ — but now Charles was enthralled. He wondered if it could be true that the flayed bodies in the doctor’s anatomical texts could truly reflect the same mechanics within himself and in all other living people he could see. 

He begged Doctor Penderghast to allow him to have a look into one of the anatomical dissections that he would conduct for his apprentices. Mrs. Penderghast, who was usually a tolerant, humorous woman, opposed the idea. “I’m sure young Charlie thinks he is ready to see all that there is to see, but you, my dear, must remember that he is but a young child and refuse him. He will have bad dreams.”

Doctor Penderghast agreed to the plain logic of his wife’s words and refused Charles, who was terribly disappointed. It went like this until Charles was eleven years old and it had come time both for him to be sent to school and for the Penderghasts to return to more foreign climes. Charles was sent to the same school that his father and indeed, Doctor Penderghast, had attended. It was there, on the first day on the playing ground, he met Will Sprouse.

Even then, Will seemed somewhat above the rough and tumble society of boys that such schools had at the time, where the strongest were delighted to oppress the weak. His internal sense of justice was wonderful to behold. Charles clung to his side like iron shavings to a magnet. Dickens had said that it was a question whether one would be the hero of one’s own life or if that station should be held by someone else — but Charles did not think it was a terrible thing to believe that Will’s quiet heroism would endure longer than Charles’ own ever-wavering convictions.

When Will invited him to spend the summer holiday with him, Charles agreed with great enthusiasm. As the Penderghasts were abroad and their small house in Norwich shut up, there was nothing at all for Charles to do but remain at school until the holidays ended. Will’s invitation could not be more welcome.

Will, Charles quickly learned, was of a different type of boy than he had first realized. As an orphan, Charles tended to see others as kinds of orphans too. If not missing parents, perhaps they were missing something else — though he knew better to express this view. But Will was a squire’s son and there did not seem to be anything that he noticeably lacked. 

His home, The Ravens, was a rambling manor in the style of Queen Anne, made with the mellow brick that was distinctive of the surrounding countryside of deepest ——. As the dog-cart that brought them in sight of the house, Charles stood up and was nearly knocked from the cart in his eagerness to take in the sight of it.

When he had been pulled down to his seat again, Charles exclaimed, “I cannot believe you live here, Will! If this was my house, I would never want to leave it.” 

“You’ve only seen the outside,” Will told him. “At least reserve judgment until you’ve had a look inside.”

They were brought to the front of the house and Charles was surprised to see that there was no one there to greet them. Will, however, seemed to take it all in stride, unloading their trunks and bags. Finally, as they were finished and the driver had been paid for his services, the door opened slowly and out issued a singularly ill-favored man who greeted Will by name. Charles glanced at his friend nervously but Will only introduced the man as Forester, his father’s steward. 

“You young gentlemen may run along, I’ll take your things upstairs. Dinner is at the usual time, Master Will.”

“Thank you, Forester. Please give Charles the room next to mine — the Blue Room.”

Forester seemed to hesitate. “Are you sure, master? Mrs. Thrush had gone up and set the the White Chamber to rights and it’s only down the hall from yours.”

“I am sure,” was Will’s firm reply and Charles wondered at it. He was glad to be staying next to him, of course, and he wondered if part of Will’s insistence was that perhaps the two rooms were connected to each other. Whatever it was, he did not care which room he eventually got — he badly wanted to see the house and grounds.

Eventually they were set free to wander until dinner-time. The interior of the house was pleasant and well-furnished, though Charles was aware of a great age that seemed to lie heavily on everything. No attempt had been made at modernization. During the night, Will said, everyone was advised to tread carefully, as the uneven floorboards did its best to knock the candle from your hand.

As children inevitably will, they grew tired of peering into dusty and shadowy rooms and opted rather to run outside into the garden. And here there was real pleasure to be had. Though the day grew late, the light was still good and there were quite a few interesting spots to look at — the fishing temple, the maze, the ancient yew tree that dominated its corner of the park. 

But all such attractions paled in comparison to what Will told Charles as they loitered beside the fishing temple, trying to lure out the trout from the pond, though they lacked the equipment to do so. 

“Charlie, my house is frightfully haunted,” said Will matter-of-factly. “I don’t believe in keeping secrets, though my father said never to tell. But I’d feel terrible if I kept it from _you_ anyway.”

“Haunted!” Charles said, feeling a certain thrill run through him. Despite its name, there was nothing particularly frightening about Will’s house. “Is it a lady in white who walks down your lane? Or a ghost monk seen at dusk?”

“No, nothing like that,” was Will’s tense reply. “They come out at night.” He seemed to realize that he was being alarming, he attempted to smile. “As long as you don’t wander, you should be all right.”

“You said _they_ ,” said Charles. “Are there more than one?”

It was then the dinner bell rang and they were obliged to go see to it. Dinner was only between himself and Will. Charles was surprised, as he knew Will’s father was at home. But Will said that his father took his meals upstairs most days. He was an invalid and did not like to see other people. 

“I’m surprised that he allowed me to bring you here,” Will said composedly, with a maturity that Charles thought went beyond his years. “But I’m glad he did! We’ll have some adventures that we’ll tell Pincomb and the others about, won’t we?”

Charles agreed that this was so. As they ate, he reflected that it made sense that Will was so lively and happy at school — even to the displeasure of some of their schoolmasters — for how different it was to take a meal in a crowded hall full of both friends and enemies than it was to eat alone in a splendid but empty room. 

After dinner, he followed Will to the kitchen to be introduced to the housekeeper, Mrs. Thrush, who was a pleasant sort of woman. Though due to her husband’s illness, she no longer lived in the house. It was time for her to take her leave and they bid her good night, watching her as she went.

Charles shivered. The kitchen seemed a far colder place now. Will touched his arm and said conspiratorially, “Do you wish to see one of the ghosts now?” 

“Yes!” Charles said with great enthusiasm. Then, thinking better of it, he added, “But is it safe, do you think?” 

“Quite safe,” Will assured him. “He is only seen on the anniversary of his death. Come along.” 

Their destination was a great portrait, hanging in an obscure part of the house, near the library. Through the flickering light of Will’s oil lamp, Charles could make out the face of man, quite aged and with lines of displeasure and cruelty around his mouth and eyes. He was dressed in the style of the last century and seemed to be a judge, from his be-wigged and black garbed appearance. One of his hands rested on a skull on top of a pile of books. The other hand, wearing a large signet ring, was clutched to his heart. 

“What a wicked-looking old man!” Charles exclaimed. 

“The artist didn’t lie, as far as I can tell,” Will said. “That was the Bloody Judge, my grandfather. It’s his fault that our family was cursed, you know.” 

“I think you’re trying to frighten me,” Charles said. Will held up the lamp to his own face and the light twisted its pleasant features into strange planes and hollows. 

“Not at all,” he said and blew the lamp out. 

There was a moment of frantic shrieking before Will lit the lamp again and laughed at him. “Come on, Charlie. We’ve got to go to bed. My father wouldn’t like it if we screamed so.” 

“I don’t think I like this part of you,” Charles said disapprovingly and Will apologized, though with a smile that seemed to say that he didn’t quite mean it. But Charles forgave him and they went to bed as friends. 

The Blue Room was decorated in the Georgian manner, with dark blue wallpaper with bronze pomegranates and leaves festooned upon it, and heavy and dark furniture of possibly older origins. Nothing about it seemed comfortable or hospitable for a child, though its closeness to Will’s own room could not be disputed. Indeed, Charles had been correct in his conjecture -- his room and Will’s was connected by a door, now unlocked. Indeed, he could hear Will walking about in his room quite clearly, which surprised him somewhat. In school, Will had always been a solid sleeper, not prone to wandering about. 

But still, Charles put those considerations aside and settled into bed. It was at least a comfortable bed and he realized, despite Forester’s protests, Mrs. Thrush had been able to put fresh bed sheets on it. He was dozing off when the door to Will’s room suddenly cracked open. With sleep still in his eyes, Charles murmured, “Is that you, Will?” 

He heard footsteps -- very light ones -- approaching his bed. Charles held out his hand. “Are you feeling guilt for trying to scare me earlier, you devil?” 

But his hand remained empty. Instead, he heard distinctly, Will telling him to follow. But when Charles had finally detangled himself from his bedclothes, he could not see his friend at all. Instead, the door to the hallway was open, swinging lazily about. Will must have gone through that way. 

Once Charles had gone to the door, he saw nothing save for a small flutter of movement at the end of the hall. When he called Will’s name, there was no reply. Annoyed at this -- hadn’t Will himself said not to wander the house at night? -- Charles lit a candle and threw on a robe over his nightshirt and ventured out. 

At first, there was nothing to be seen when he came to the spot where he had seen the movement. He wondered if he should go back until he heard, just above his ear, a low and creaky chuckle. Charles turned about and saw a shape before him. It was a man, or what had once been a man. He was wrapped tightly in a dark shroud so his face was not visible, though through the inky black of his shroud Charles could see two points of light, dull red in color. Charles tried to move away, but he fell -- dropped his candle and saw its light being swallowed up by the blackness. The thing bent over him and touched Charles’ forehead. Its skin was rough and covered with short, wiry hairs. 

Charles could not move. He stood, shock still and unbelieving. 

It was then a hand roughly grab him and drag him away from the dreadful figure and into a room that was quite unknown to him. In it, a small fireplace was lit but gave little warmth. His savior was a man, who was very thin and pale. But he was quite human, for he looked upon Charles with considerable irritation. 

“Has Will not told you to stay in bed during the night? I don’t wish to be disturbed by little bastards wandering about and falling outside my door.” 

“I did not _fall_ , it was that thing --” Charles said strongly when the door flew open. It was Will, who looked pale and somewhat ill. 

“Father!” he said quickly. “I am sorry to disturb you.” 

“He was wandering,” said Will’s father, relinquishing his hold on Charles’ shoulder. “Did you not warn him?” 

“Not well,” said Will, “I am sorry for it. Charlie, come with me.” 

“What is the thing that I saw?” Charles said. “It is very nasty and I do not think it should be allowed to wander here.” 

“Please come with me,” Will said. “I can tell you later.” 

Having no other choice, Charles obeyed him. They went back to Will’s room, passing the part of the hall where Charles had dropped his candle and scorched the carpet. The candle itself was missing but Will did not remark on it, and so Charles did not either. 

Will’s room was warm and filled with the remnants of his childhood. Charles fell asleep quite quite quickly and dreamed strange dreams. 

*

The next day, Will would not speak about the thing Charles saw in the hall, no matter how much he taxed him. Instead, he said, rather sullenly, that his father had said that the three of them should now become acquainted. 

Accordingly, after breakfast, the two boys presented themselves over to Forester, who conducted them over to Sir John’s portion of the house. Daylight did not improve the man’s condition, for he seemed at first too tired to speak. He was sat on a chair in front of the fire and was studying it quite intently. He ignored the boys for several moments before at last Sir John spoke. 

“After the foolishness I saw last night, Mr. Hatfield, I must question the prudence of allowing my son to continue on with his friendship with you. For a boy of nearly twelve, you acted very childishly. You dropped a candle, you know, and that could have set the whole place aflame.” 

Charles was very ashamed and looked down. 

“Well? What have you to say for yourself?” said Sir John. 

“I am very sorry, sir,” said Charles at last. “I know I have acted very foolishly. I thought I was following Will out, but I see now that I was mistaken in the matter.” 

“Will has lived here his whole life,” said Sir John. “He would not venture out of his room at night without good reason. Isn’t that correct, Will?” 

“Yes, father,” said Will. He seemed almost as ashamed as Charles was. He would not meet his friend’s eye at all. “But still it is true that—” 

“What is true?” asked Sir John. 

“The Judge was out last night, father. Though it is not near his anniversary at all.” 

“You are as foolish as your friend, then,” said Sir John scornfully. “To believe in ghosts and spirits at your age!” 

He scoffed and worried the red signet ring that hung loose on his thin finger. “This house is not haunted. There is no such thing as ghosts. And young boys should not wander in such places as they are not wanted. Do the two of you understand that?” 

The two of them said that they did. With that last reminder, Sir John dismissed them. The rest of Charles’ stay at the Ravens proved to be a quiet one. He had learned his lesson well. In the night, he would stay in his bed as if he was bolted there, ignoring the sighs and whispers at the door, and steps that came to and fro around him. It was nothing. There was no such thing as ghosts. 

And if he should look out from his bed and see a pair of dull red eyes looking back at him, he would close his own eyes and open them up again and see nothing. It was but dying embers in the fire, he assured himself. Nothing more. 

*

“I am to go back to the Ravens,” Will said with a sigh. “They will need me at the inquest, I suppose.” 

“The inquest?” Charles said, surprised. He was sitting in his bed, trying to button up his shirt and making a mess of it. He had quite recovered from his illness though his hands still trembled. He let Will take it over, buttoning him and helping him into a jacket. It was high time that they removed themselves from the room, as the bed-maker had come and was obliged to do her work. 

“I thought your father had died naturally,” Charles said as they made their way to Hall to have their breakfast. Will shrugged. 

“No doubt that will be the result of it,” he said, “but they found him out of doors, you see, leaning against the yew tree and are obliged to investigate. My father never went abroad if he could help it, especially not at night. Some compulsion must have brought him out of his room and to — well, to his end. It’s in the doctor’s hands now.” 

“Extraordinary,” Charles said as they took their seat. 

Will looked unhappy for a moment. “I hope you do not think me too hard-hearted. You know what my father was like. He did not enjoy a moment of his life since my mother left us, or indeed, I think, before.” 

“I do not think you are hard-hearted in the least,” Charles said. “I think, given the unusual manner of your childhood, you are quite normal.”

“That is all relative,” Will said with a curious half-smile. 

A hand was placed on Charles’ shoulder and he looked up to see Erskine looking down at him. “Hatfield,” he said cheerfully. “I hope to see you at the smoking concert tomorrow.” 

“I cannot go,” Charles said instantly. “I am to accompany my friend Will here to an inquest.” 

“An inquest!” Erskine’s hazy blue eyes sharpened. “Are you suspected of some crime, Sprouse?” 

“Not that I know of,” said Will. He went on to say that Erskine ought to go if he wanted to eat, as breakfast was coming to an end. Erskine sneered at that and said that he had no appetite and left.

The next morning, Will and Charles left early for the station — there was a long ride before them. Even so, Charles regretted his haste and wished he’d taken that last cup of tea at the station. Will was working on his correspondence with his solicitor. Charles had a fat letter from Mrs. Penderghast to read — after the death of her husband some years ago, the old lady had turned her hand to writing Charles long and informative letters of her life, observations and recollections of her travels. They were always interesting reading and Mrs. Penderghast made sure to include a packet of her shortbread with her letters. 

The atmosphere of the train compartment was one of serene absorption. That, however, was shattered when the door opened and who else should come through — not the train guard, but Lord Erskine, who mimed elaborate surprise at seeing them. 

“Why! Are we going to the same place? How jolly indeed.”

Will ejaculated unbelievingly while Charles thought, rather guiltily, that the following drama would certainly be more interesting than he could have anticipated.

And anyway, the three of them were off, to the despair of their tutors if they should have known it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Oppressive Regency wallpaper](https://www.littlegreene.com/wallpaper/shop-by-period/18th-century-wallpapers/pomegranate-prophet).


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contains: brief mention of trypophobia.

“Haven’t you told him that you were there that night, Sprouse?” Erskine asked abruptly. He reached out and plucked the box of shortbread from Charles’ nerveless fingers. “Are these shortbread? How lovely. Do you mind?”

Charles didn’t answer him. Instead he turned his attention to Will, who was consciously avoiding his eyes. “Is it true? You were there? I thought — I thought you were already on your way home.” 

“I didn’t know you would be there,” Will said, finally looking at him. He looked embarrassed, and well he should, Charles thought. More than that, he should be ashamed. 

Will clenched his jaw, as if he knew what Charles was thinking. “I did it as a favor. Forester’s telegram didn’t say that Father was dead, I thought it was one of his turns. I was angry and I wanted to be away.”

“A favor? In that place? Will, how could you even think to —”

“It was only a costume and makeup, Charlie. Nothing more than that.”

“Nothing more! It was — what I saw wasn’t you — or anyone in a costume — it was a real creature and vile.”

“You didn’t seem to think so at the time,” Erskine said smugly.

“Erskine, if you speak another word, I will throw you off this train, the consequences be damned.”

“Oh!” Erskine said, sounding pleased. “I didn’t know you were capable of such things. Color me intrigued.”

“Charlie, you weren’t meant to know,” Will said, sounding wretched. “I had no idea you would’ve been there. I couldn’t have.”

“You were a demon,” Charles said, feeling insane. Was he to distrust all of his senses? He felt as if he was grasping at something that was crumbling in his hands. “If it was you that I saw, then— what kind of thing are you?” 

“Charlie…”

“You stupid ass,” said Lord Erskine loudly, apparently unafraid of Charles’ threat of violence. “You drank mushroom wine and ate strange sweets. Why would you expect to see something real?” 

“Because I didn’t know what I ate or drank,” Charles replied sharply. “I wasn’t supposed to be there at all.”

“But you were. Why don’t you forget if you should have been there or not? You’re a pledged member of the club now.”

“God forbid!” Charles said and Erskine laughed. It was not a nice laugh and Erskine was not a nice man. But he looked as if he knew that he still held a sort of fascination for Charles, and for that Charles was ashamed of himself.

He looked away and his eyes landed on the signet ring that now graced Will’s hand. How he hated that ring — now that it was inextricably linked to some of his worst — and most pleasurable — memories. 

He wondered why the carving upon it seemed strangely indistinct. Even as he stared at it, he could not quite make it out. 

But even the presence of the ring itself made no sense. Had Will come back early from seeing his father or had he — had he gone there earlier, and for a different purpose than he said? 

“What did you do, Will?” Charles said, reaching out to wrench the ring from Will’s finger. His action felt almost mechanical to him, as if some other mind was making him reach out and touch the thing he had no desire to. Will warded him off. The train around them shuddered and shook. The lights seemed to flicker, as if they were at that moment to be plunged into the total darkness of a tunnel.

But there was no such tunnel. 

As soon as Charles let go of Will’s hand, everything went back to normal. 

Erskine said, alarmed, “Watch out, won’t you?” 

But Charles shook his head and put his questions to Will. “That ring of yours — wasn’t it your father’s? What’s wrong with it? What can it do?” 

“It can’t be — it shouldn’t be interfered with,” Will said, biting his lip. “Don’t try to touch it or take it from me, Charlie. It’ll do no good.” 

“Can you not take it off now? Are you bound to it?”

“It’s a thing of great occult significance,” Erskine announced excitedly. “Fancy someone like you having it, Sprouse! It’s always the undeserving who gets the best of life, isn’t it?” 

Charles could take it no more. He stood up and murmured indistinctly that he would walk to the dining car and get a cup of tea. However, the short walk down the shuddering corridor and into the dining car did nothing to clear his head.

He felt more confused than he had ever been before. He thought he knew Will as well as he knew himself, but now his friend had a completely unknown side of himself. Did Charles even dare to think that he knew Will at all?

Perhaps he was being unfair to Will, for judging him more harshly than he did Erskine? But Erskine was just a chancer, not one of his dearest friends …

Charles stood and waited for his turn to get a cup of tea — and after a moment of hesitation, he took another one. As he was walking back to his compartment, the guard asked him if the gentleman with him had his ticket. Instinctively, Charles turned his head — and saw no one at all. He realized that that guard must be referring to the second cup of tea in his hand, though how the guard knew it was for a gentleman, he couldn’t guess. 

“I don’t think so?” Charles said dubiously.

“He’s quite covered up, isn’t it he, sir? Has he been ill?”

“What? I don’t think so…” 

The guard was looking at him strangely but Charles shrugged. He was allowed to return to his compartment with no more questions. 

Will was surprised but gratified when Charles handed him the tea. Erskine complained bitterly at his lack of tea, but eventually he lapsed into sulky silence. The shortbread was completely gone. When the guard came by to check the tickets, he looked askance at the empty seat besides Erskine, but said nothing about it.

*

Once they had gotten off at the village of W——, more misfortune visited upon Erskine. The room at the village inn he had requested could not be given to him, due to a prior engagement. Will suggested heartlessly that perhaps that it was a sign he should go back but Erskine appealed to him as a gentleman to offer a bed for the night.

Charles did not offer his opinion and Erskine prevailed. They would go to the Ravens together.

*

It was late in the evening when they reached the house, with long shadows that covered the park. From the distance, all the windows looked like patches of dark against the red brick. Will said, in an undertone, that Forester would not be there to see them tonight — he had gone almost as soon as his father died.

“What about your housekeeper? Have you no servants at all, Sprouse?” Erskine asked indignantly.

“My father led a very simple life,” Will said patiently. “If you want to go back to the village, I’m sure Ethan here will oblige you.” 

The driver offered no indication that he would do so. Erskine harrumphed. “I don’t give up on the first sign of discomfort, Sprouse.”

“That is rare among your class.” 

“Should you be a radical with such a house like this?”

“It’s nothing but a burden to me,” Will replied shortly.

“Then sell it to some banker from the city — or a rich American. I don’t think you’ll lack for sellers.”

“I can’t sell it,” Will said darkly. “Not the way it is now.”

“Is it still the same?” Charles asked anxiously.

“Worse,” was the dreadful reply.

*

Will put three new locks on the front door. When questioned about it, his answers proved unsatisfactory. “I think it will prove useful, in the end.”

“Will locks be able to keep out those things that creep in?” Charles asked aloud and Will gave him a brief, appealing look. Charles could not help it — he put a hand on Will’s shoulder and let him lean against him. They stood like that for a brief, wonderful moment. 

“I shouldn’t have agreed to bring you here,” Will said ruefully. He closed his eyes for a moment and looked unutterably weary and far older than his years. Charles chucked his chin and Will opened his eyes and smiled. He had such lovely eyes — so dark and so deep. It felt the most natural thing in the world to lean in and kiss Will now — kiss him as he ought to be kissed. Passionately, by someone who loved him — someone like Charles. 

When he stepped back, Will’s hand reached out to him before he dropped it with a sad, half-smile. 

“I would’ve come anyway,” Charles finished lamely. “It was best you didn’t argue.” 

“Ahem,” said a polite voice behind them. Erskine had emerged from the dining room with an expression of elaborate concern. “I’ve made something for dinner. Would you like to try it?” 

“Not poisoned this time, I hope,” Charles said lightly. 

“You should be so lucky to taste my poison again, my dear,” Erskine said lightly. “But really, I learned to be quite an inventive cook when I fagged for C—-. Do you know him?” 

Everyone knew of C ——, a splendidly gallant fellow, who had so recently gone missing climbing one of those mountains that men had no business climbing. They remained quiet for the rest of the meal — which was, as Erskine said, surprisingly serviceable, consisting of toasted bread and melted cheese as well as a good bottle of wine — in the memory of C ——, so wonderful and lost.

*

After that, there was nothing to do but go to bed. Will said that he would sleep in his father’s old room, and gave Charles his old one. Erskine got the White Chamber. Everyone was given their lamp and candle, as well as a box of matches.

Formally, Will said, “Lord Erskine, Charles already knows this but I must make it clear to you — don’t wander the halls of this house in the dark. There are places you ought not go and ought not see. It is only for your own peace of mind I tell you this.”

Erskine seemed to agree to all of this easily enough. When Charles was heading for bed, Will stopped him. “I want to show you something. It’s in my father’s room.”

Heart beating in excitement, Charles followed Will upstairs, ignoring Erskine’s knowing look. As soon as the door closed on Sir John’s old chamber, Will sighed and leaned against the wood for a moment.

“Will,” Charles said, alarmed. “Are you …”

Will turned back to him and smiled. “You were right, of course. I did come back to see my father. I wanted to confront him — Charlie, do you remember last year, when I was assisting Professor Elkins classify the various types of local legends of this part of the county?”

“Of course, you were very enthusiastic about it,” Charles said. Will ferried him over to the fireplace and told him to take a seat. Then, as soon as Charles was settled, he went over to an enormous clothes press and took out a black scrapbook of some kind.

“Imagine to my surprise, then, to see my own name and that of my mother crop up in connection to an old tragedy.” Will sat opposite of Charles and laid out the scrapbook on the tea table in front of them. He flipped through the pages until he stopped at a clipped newspaper article. Charles leaned over and read the headline. It said: “The Miracle at the Ravens: Tragic Accident Kills Woman, Driver. Child Unharmed.” 

Will frowned. “My entire life, my father has told me that my mother abandoned me. She left the two of us to have a more normal life. I accepted it because what else could I do? She had never come back. I tried to send her letters when I was very young, but I never knew where to send them. My father never spoke of her. I thought she was unworthy of me, of love, because she left.”

“Oh, Will…”

“But —” Will tapped his finger against the news article. “Don’t you see? She was leaving him but never me. She’d waited until he left for the day — in those days, he still went abroad. Then she packed us up — she, I and her maid, and took the carriage out of the park. Some disaster must’ve taken place, because when my father returned, the carriage was smashed to pieces and I, the only survivor. Not a scratch on me, it said.” 

Charles wanted so badly to touch him, to share in his newly-discovered grief, but Will seemed not to welcome such an overture. Instead, he stood apart, earnestly trying to tease apart his family’s secrets. 

“Is that what you wanted to speak to your father about?” Charles asked tentatively. Will gave him a wry look. 

“I didn’t kill my father, Charlie.” 

“I didn’t suspect that!” Charles protested. “My God, I know you’re not capable of it.” 

“You’d better go to bed,” Will said after an awkward pause. More gently, he said, “We’re in for a long day tomorrow.” 

“May I stay with you?” Charles asked, though he knew before he spoke that Will would deny him. And so he did, though not without a trace of regret in his tone, or so Charles thought. Will offered to walk back to his room, but Charles declined. He knew the trick of navigating the halls of the house by now — he would always train his eyes downward and never follow any sign off his chosen path. 

When he finally came to bed, Charles tried to pray. The Penderghasts had been faithful church-goers during his childhood and of course all students at the college were required to report for chapel in the morning, without regard to their state of wakefulness. But Charles had trouble that night. He knew that his wishes and impulses were directly opposed to everything he ought to wish for and feel. But he couldn’t help it — and he didn’t want to try. 

At the knock at his door, his pulse began to race. Was it Will? Had he changed his mind after all? 

“Who is it?” Charles called out. 

“Let me in,” said a muffled voice. Charles got out of bed and opened the door. Erskine was there, dressed in the brightest silk robe that Charles had ever seen. He looked rather worse for wear than Charles had ever seen him — as if the oppressive atmosphere of the house had taken a toll on him, finally. 

“I remember,” Erskine said, swallowing — he looked down the dark hall and then back at Charles. The candle he was clutching to was burning dangerously low. “Sleeping in my grandmama’s house, which was almost as frightening as this, and my cousins and I would sleep two to a bed. Thinking of it now, it seems a grand idea.” 

“Are you afraid, Erskine? Even you?” Charles said, leaning against the door. Erkine winced.

“Be human. Are you feeling easy yourself? No, I can see that,” He sounded truly distressed and it was because of this that Charles relented and let him inside. Once he’d gotten into bed, however, Erskine seemed quite recovered. He asked no more about Charles’ state of mind. Instead, he proceeded to take the lion’s share of the linens. 

“Wait — listen,” Charles said as Erskine pulled the blankets more tightly around himself. “I didn’t allow you in here just to discomfort me — Erskine, give me back those blankets.” 

Erskine stuck his face out of the blankets and stared at him. “What were you doing instead of sleeping? Pining after that idiot Sprouse? You know, no matter how much you pine for him, he’ll never give you what you want. He’s not capable of it.” 

“Don’t speak about what you don’t know,” Charles said wearily. 

“I don’t know!” Erskine exclaimed softly. “I know little else. But I can do you a kindness — if you’ll allow me, for I know how important it is for you to give permission — I can take care of you. Don’t tell me you don’t wish for a caring touch.” 

“It doesn’t matter what I wish for,” Charles said with gritted teeth. “I care about my friends, Erskine. I don’t carelessly take what I want.” 

“And has your consideration ever been rewarded?” 

“Erskine …” 

“Call me Magnus,” Erskine said and kissed him. 

“Certainly not,” Charles said strongly and let himself be kissed. Erskine was an experienced lover and it showed thoroughly in his actions. He pulled Charles toward him eagerly, his arms looped around Charles’ waist. His hand, when it reached Charles’ prick, was cool and lovely. It felt so wonderful that Charles’ mind went blank. He hardly noticed it when the lamp went out. But Erskine, above him, grew still. 

“Ah. Light a candle, would you?” he asked, his voice a little strained. He moved away from Charles for a moment and seemed to throw a bedsheet around himself. 

“Why —” Charles said — he reached out and touched Erskine’s shoulder, kissed it, bit at it. “Are you frightened?” 

“It’s bloody dark here,” Erskine said and Charles frowned at that. He could still see well enough but Erskine did seem dimmer to him that he ought to be, as he was so close. It seemed as if a dark veil was between them. He reached for the matches and in his fumbling, knocked it over. By the time he’d gotten the candle lit, Erskine was suspiciously quiet. 

It was just his luck, Charles thought ruefully as he turned back to him. “Fallen asleep, Erskine?” 

Erskine was still. His black hair fell back against his face and for a moment Charles could have sworn it was a shroud for how odd it looked. Erskine’s face, as he looked at it, seemed to be pockmarketed by dozens of little holes — as if it was the skin of some long dead creature, left out to be the home of a hive of insects. His mouth opened but no scream came out. 

The vision was gone in a moment but Charles would never forget it. Erskine touched his face with both his hands and asked what had happened.

Charles only shook his head, pulling himself away. 

Spitting out apologies, he rose from the bed and bolted out of the room and into the darkness. He did not know what to expect but he saw the open door and the light and threw himself into the room. Will was there and waiting. 

*

Erskine waited a few moments but Charles did not return. He scoffed at — himself and at this entire situation. He felt as if he had made a fool of himself somehow. He had never had a man reject him so thoroughly like that. Humiliate him, yes, repay his kindness with scorn, of course. But never running away like that. 

He got up from bed and gathered as many of Charles’ blankets as he could. It would serve him right if he came back to an empty bed, the coward. As Erskine shuffled out of the room and towards his own, he heard a small sound behind him, like a bare foot hitting the hard floor. 

All at once, the world inverted and he was on floor and moving, though by no power of his own. The pain of it was terrible. Something was dragging him away by his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know your thoughts, either positive or negative. I’ve been thinking a lot about how the end of these stories feel inevitable, but they don’t have to be.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dramatic inquests! Elided confessions! Fade to black! Will Charles continue to play the fool?

They slept late and by the time the church bells had rung a quarter past seven, Ethan was at the door, ready to take them to the village. Erskine was nowhere to be seen. Charles, with some feeling of guilt, thought he could’ve even left the night before, but Will said his walking stick was in the front hall and his shoes still outside his bedroom. 

“There’s no use in waiting for him,” he said with a trace of impatience. “And I can’t be late to my father’s inquest. Imagine how terrible it would look.” 

Charles agreed to that, but even as the carriage pulled away, he found himself glancing backwards towards the house and fancied that he could see the reflection of pale faces on the glass. Perhaps he did. Perhaps those faces even belonged to someone living. 

The inquest was to take place in a room at the inn, the Merry Monk, but they arrived to have breakfast beforehand. In due time, the coroner, Mr. Mortmain, arrived, along with his assistant and Dr. Lloyd, who had attended to Sir John. They greeted Will kindly and seemed to approve of Charles being there. It was a sad occasion, after all. 

The room had been prepared for them — with a table in front for the coroner and his assistant, a place for the witnesses and rows of chairs for the audience, of which there were many. Sir John had been a reclusive fellow and there were many people in the village and surroundings who were curious about the manner of his death.

The inquest began with Dr. Lloyd speaking first, describing the events that led up to Sir John’s death. All of the information was new to Charles and he listened intently. Sir John, Dr. Lloyd said, had left his room at midnight and ventured forth across the lawn toward the yew tree. The mud on the knees of his trousers seemed to indicate that he had fallen at some point and had begun to crawl. He had died against the yew tree, still on his knees.

“There was no mark of violence on his body,” the doctor said gravely, his hands folded neatly in front of him. He was a pleasant looking man of about forty or so, with salt-and-pepper hair and a decided paunch. He had been Sir John’s doctor since he had moved into the neighborhood five years ago. “Save for some ligature marks across his neck, that is.” 

“I wouldn’t call that no sign of violence,” said Mr. Mortmain. “If a man’s been garrotted.” 

“It’s not clear if those marks were inflicted on Sir John or by him,” said the doctor. “I am sorry to say, but Sir John had developed a heavy drinking habit during his lifetime. He could have been intoxicated at the time of his death.” 

“Could have been? You do not know?” 

“The body was left out for almost twelve hours before it was discovered — it would’ve been difficult to determine the cause of death even without such a delay. Sir John suffered from an enlarged heart — I had warned him that any heavy shock could kill him. Perhaps it did.” 

Mr. Mortmain considered this. “If Sir John suffered such shock, who amongst us now can speak to it now?” His light grey eyes scanned the crowd and fell upon Will. Mr. Mortmain was a wisp of a man, hardly substantial — until he found something to pursue, and then he was like a hound with a scent. He was so now, when he dismissed Dr. Lloyd and called Will to the stand. 

Charles thought Will conducted himself well under scrutiny. He answered all the questions put to him with frank good-humor and an apparent want to be helpful. He said that he had been at home on the day of his father’s death — he had been called to sign some papers that had to do with his inheritance, as he had turned twenty-one a month ago. His father had seemed in a good mood when Will had left him, though he had complained of his ill health. It was understood that Will would return in a matter of days to see to the final matters of his inheritance, but such a day had never occurred. 

“If I may be allowed to make an observation,” Will said composedly — Mr. Mortmain waved a languid hand and he continued. “My father would never have left his room in the night and walked unaccompanied to the garden. Such actions would be completely at odds with his habits and frame of mind. I do not know what could have prompted him to take such actions, but I believe it must have been something dire to compel him to do so.” 

“You are muddying the waters, Mr. Sprouse, rather than clearing them,” said Mr. Mortmain severely. “You may step down.”

Another witness was called — this time, it was the under-gardener, Mr. Wallace, who had discovered the boy. As he spoke, the door to the meeting room opened and someone made an entrance. Charles turned his head to see who it was and was surprised to see it was Forester, who seemed largely unchanged since he had seen him last. Save for the fact that he was dressed in a more prosperous fashion than before. Will observed him too and made no comment, but Charles thought he seemed annoyed by the appearance of his father’s old retainer. But surely his appearance would have been expected? 

Mr. Mortmain called Forester up to the witness stand. He began his statement with a long speech of how much he respected his former employer. It was interesting to hear, as Charles gathered that opinion on the old man was wildly divided in the area and unvarnished praise was rare. However, that was not all the surprise Forester had in store for them. 

“Now, Mr. Forester, you wrote to me and stressed that you had a statement to make before this board,” said Mr. Mortmain. “You were very particular and said that it would shed light into the question of Sir John Sprouse’s death. Would you be willing to tell us what the statement is?” 

“I am, sir,” said Forester. His face, which tended to the florid, turned more red than ever. He seemed to enjoy the attention focusing on him immensely. “I do not like to contradict a young gentleman such as Mr. Sprouse, as I have great respect for him and have seen him grow to be a man — however, he stated that he left the house hours before his father’s death. And yet I saw him walking towards the house around midnight and I do believe he had something —” 

Forester began to cough. At first, it seemed as if he would be able to recover his breath, but instead he doubled over in pain. A gush of blood spilled from his mouth and he tumbled, insensible from his chair. Dr. Lloyd sprang to action, as did Will and Charles. But there was no help for him— Forester was dead. 

For the shocking events and addition of a new corpse to the proceeding, Mr. Mortmain called for a break of the inquest. The talk and hubbub was so loud as to be deafening and some of the on-lookers had to be taken out. 

“He was consumptive,” Dr. Lloyd said as a stretcher was brought out to take the body of the unfortunate Mr. Forester away. “I do not think we would need a second inquest into the matter.”

“Nor would I allow it,” said Mr. Mortmain. “I think it is high time we resolved the matter. I’m missing my luncheon.” 

The inquest resumed at a quicker pace. As Mr. Forester’s statements could not be confirmed by anyone else, it was a matter of uncertainty if it was indeed Will he saw in the garden that night, and if so, what it all could mean. After some time of deliberation and consultation, the coroner determined that the official cause of Sir John’s death was death by misadventure, brought by his poor health. 

“As to why Sir John should abandon his habits, long established and familiar to all, and brought him to the spot of his death, we cannot know. I pray that none present will have such a strange and lonely death as his,” said Mr. Mortmain heavily. And so, it was over. 

Charles reached out and took Will’s hand and squeezed it. Will’s eyes were straight ahead, but he squeezed back. After the inquest, the coroner and his assistant took their leave quickly, while Dr. Lloyd lingered mournfully. 

“I’ll have a time trying to get paid for this,” he said sadly. “Mortmain will say I did not help with the case at all and in the end, I won’t see a cent of what’s owed me.” 

“Sir, let us buy you a drink, at least,” said Will. “Though I must go and see about my father’s funeral.” 

A look of discomfort passed across Dr. Lloyd’s face, though Charles introduced himself again and said that he was soon to be a medical student. Will slipped away from the conversation at that point, but the two of them found a place at the bar to chat and have a long-delayed meal. Dr. Lloyd was full of advice and encouragement. He invited Charles to come over to his office — he expected that he would have to autopsy Forester soon, to determine the official cause of his death. 

“You mean he wasn’t consumptive?” Charles asked, surprised. 

“I didn’t know him to be, but why else would he die like that?” Dr. Lloyd said, shaking his head. “It is a strange business, this. Two deaths so close to each other — one wonders …” 

“If there will be another?” Will said, putting a hand on Charles’ shoulder. “Charlie, we ought to go. Reverend Vyse is waiting for us.” 

“Of course,” Charles said, getting up. He attempted to pay his tab but was told he had been paid. But as they left the inn, Charles was conscious of the scrutiny of many eyes on him and Will, not all of it friendly. He waited until they were a good way away to burst out. 

“Do they really think that you could have had anything to do with your father’s death?” he exclaimed, as quietly as he could as they walked down to the church. “It is incredible!” 

“Some believe Forester’s mischief, no doubt,” Will said curtly. “Forester and I fell out when I started taking more interest in the estate. I believe he was taking more than he ought.” 

“And so his dislike of you is explained,” Charles said with a sigh. “Really, Will, I thought life at the college was unbearable but it’s nothing to what we experienced there. They would’ve condemned you in a minute, and for what?” 

“What indeed?” said Will with a sad smile. “And yet these people are destined to be my future.” 

“My God,” Charles said. “I hate to admit it, but Erskine is right. You can sell…” 

But Will said nothing in reply — they had arrived at the church. It was as picturesque a church as one could imagine — upon entering, he saw a plaque commemorating some disaster of ages past. Will had mentioned the fact that his family still had a stall at the church and so they did — it was a very well-made thing, with carved scenes from the Bible. The Devil seemed very prominent in it as well. The fur on his — nether regions seemed especially nicely rendered. What possible use would it be to put so much effort into the Devil, Charles wondered. However, the stall did its job — sitting in it, one could be hidden from the sight of the other parishioners very well. 

Reverend Vyse slipped into the church and greeted them. The plans for Sir John’s funeral, delayed because of the inquest, were now set to take place tomorrow. Ballard, the coffin-maker, had brought over the piece he had made for Sir John years ago.

As Charles listened to the details with only half-an-ear, he noticed a familiar black figure sitting at the very back of the church. He felt a red hot flush of fury run through him. This was the creature that has been _hounding_ him — the thing he had seen in such horrific detail the night before. He left Will and the vicar behind and walked over to where the deeply veiled figure sat. He opened his mouth to say — Lord, what was he supposed to say? When the veil twitched aside and he found himself looking at the pale and frightened face of a elderly woman. He took a step back and hurriedly apologized — he got no reply and rushed from the church.

Will came out a few moments later. “Are you all right?” he asked. “The vicar says you are welcome to have tea at the vicarage. You seem like you need it.”

“I frightened that old lady,” Charles said with some difficulty. “I thought I saw something — that wasn’t there, clearly. I’d rather go, if that’s all right.”

“I’ve no objections.” Will paused and looked around the place where Charles had rushed out. “You know, in the past they would’ve buried the suicides and the unholy on the north side of the church. And here my father belongs, though he’ll go into the vault next to my mother as one expects.”

“Will, you have to …”

“Keep a civil tongue in my head concerning my father? I know. But it’s hard.”

“Suspicions are hard to take, but I know in time they will fade,” Charles said with a smile. He thought this was perhaps as comforting as he imagined and cast about for something more suitable. “Especially with you being so wonderfully eligible! I’m sure you’ll have young women beating at your door.”

“Charlie — you can’t be serious,” Will exclaimed. “I can’t imagine being married in a thousand years.”

“No?” Charles said casually. “You’d be the last of your line, then.”

“Then let it end,” Will said. He looked over to the road and nodded. “Come along, Ethan’s here.”

*

The house was lit by the time they returned, just as evening had begun to fall. There could be no mistaking that Erskine was still there — or at least, that Erskine was the most likely the reason for it. Will and Charles exchanged glances. They had brought enough food to last them another day or so, but that had been assuming that Erskine had left.

But it was not so. They found him wrapped in the sheet, sitting in front of the fireplace in the long gallery. When he spotted them, he almost flinched and seemed to disbelieve in their presence. “You’ve taken long enough,” he said finally. “What kept you?”

“I thought you had gone,” Will said, resting his hat on one of the sheet-covered chairs. Charles thought it would do little harm to eat supper there rather than the dining room or the kitchen. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked Erskine, who eyed the pot of marmalade in his hand with inexpressible longing. 

“Yes,” Erskine said and moved a little from his spot. The sheet fell from him, revealing the great change in his person. Erskine’s hair, which had always been so long and blacker than a raven’s wing, was cut roughly and without a care, some of it close enough that his scalp was visible. At both Charles and Will’s visible shock, Erskine nodded grimly.

“Your ghost, Sprouse, did this to me.” He sighed dramatically. “I went out into the hall and found myself pushed down and — something happened. I woke up here, with all my hair cut off. I’ve never been so —”

“Violated?” Charles said, unable to keep a hint of irony out of his voice. Erskine understood immediately what he meant and looked away. He looked sick and worried. His ordeal had truly shaken him. 

Charles stood and reached for Erskine. “May I touch your hair?” 

Erskine eyed him suspiciously. “Why?” 

“I just — I cannot believe that some unearthly thing could have physically touched you. Ghosts are intangible, aren’t they?” 

“They should be,” Erskine said. “All right, you can touch me. _Gently_.” 

And so Charles did. He glanced over at Will, who was watching them both impassively, though he met Charles’ eyes for a moment and shrugged. 

Erskine’s hair was rough to the touch, as if more harm had been done to it than just a rough and unkindly cut. But as soon as Charles touched him, Erskine leaned into his hand and moaned piteously.

“Do man up, Erskine,” said Will after a moment. “You didn’t die, did you? And hair grows back.” 

Erskine gave him a venomous look. When Charles tried to move away, he reached out and took his hand. His grip was strong, surprisingly so, thought Charles. 

“I didn’t die,” he said, with particular emphasis, “but why do you think your house is so frightfully haunted, old man? Did you kill your father after all?” 

“What nonsense,” Charles burst out. “I know you’ve had a bad time of it, Erskine, but remember that Will is your host, at least.” 

“But he’s right,” said Will abruptly. There was a sound of something falling, the echoes of it rang through the house. Will went out to investigate it, with Charles and Erskine following him out. One of the locks Will had put on the front door the first night — they had been coming in and out from the kitchen door — and it would not be locked again. 

“At least there’s the other two,” Charles said, in lieu of something more sensible. Erskine snorted loudly. Will said nothing, but pocketed the lock. 

“Let’s have that supper at least,” Will said wearily. “Before anything else falls apart.”

*

After all that, they sat in a rough circle around the fireplace. They were careful not to speak of anything of importance, but once all the eating and putting away had been done, Charles turned to Will and said, “I don’t care what you did. I’m sure you did what you needed to do.” 

“Do you truly believe that?” Will asked him and Charles nodded and kissed him. Around them, the world exploded in the glorious darkness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Charles finally get the dick he so desperately needs? Maybe next time.
> 
> I'd love your thoughts and guesses with how I'm supposed to resolve all this. 👀


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story ends, for now.

They were being pulled away in the darkness, and though Charles heard Lord Erskine cry out that he would _not_ be left behind, the house seemed to disagree. Charles did not know how it happened, but they found themselves stumbling into Will’s room and his bed -- which had but lately been his father’s. Charles took Will’s hand and kissed his knuckles, his lips lingering on the signet ring. Finally, he could make out the carving on the deep red stone -- it was a demonic figure, half-man, half- _not_. 

He looked up to see Will’s face as his hand slipped away. There was a gleam of mischief in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. When they kissed again, it was as if something had finally come loose. Restraint no longer had any meaning. 

Charles felt a throb of excitement as he recalled what a figure Will had cut at the initiation ceremony. There was a part of his mind that was constantly thinking of it -- and as the shock had subsided, it had been replaced wholly with a sort of wonder that easily slid into lust. And it was a sort of lust that guilt, however well-earned, could not cling to. Charles was conscious of the impropriety of his desires -- to not only love a man, but to long for something even stranger. He blushed hotly and dropped Will’s gaze. 

“Charlie,” Will said softly, “you always astonish me with your loyalty and candor. I don’t know what I did to deserve it. I want to make a clean breast of it to you -- everything that’s happened to me since I turned twenty-one. It has been killing me to keep it from you.” 

“I should have noticed it more,” Charles confessed. “I have been such a fool! I supposed that you were pulling away because you wished to separate and marry. I thought it a natural impulse -- though I hated to lose you, Will.” 

“You may have me for as long as you like,” Will declared. “For I shall never marry -- my cursed bloodline ends with me.” 

Charles was of two minds -- in truth, he would much rather agree vaguely and help undress Will, to see him naked and whole and make him his altogether. But he recognized that Will longed to speak on what had long troubled him. So with a slight sigh, he left off unbuttoning his shirt and leaned back against the pillow. “Tell me about the curse, Will.” 

“I don’t know how long ago it was laid down,” Will said, playing with the ring on his finger. “But it came to a head in my great-grandfather’s time. I showed you his portrait when you first came here. He was a cruel man and used his power ill. In those days, they still hung witches—”

“Willie my boy, do not tell me that your great-grandfather condemned a witch and was cursed for it. It’s absurd.”

Will smiled. “He did worse. One of his neighbors was accused of witchcraft — both husband and wife, and he not only failed to recuse himself, but once they were condemned, he went and moved the landmark between their properties. He was a wicked old goat, though he suffered for it in the end. His horse threw him on the grounds where the old landmark had been, and there he laid for days and days. He did not die right away. They say he cried out, but if anyone heard him, they didn’t venture into the woods to see. When they found him, his prized ring — also the former property of his hated neighbors — was the only thing that identified him.”

Charles shuddered. “A terrible story, but why —?”

“They should have buried it all, and replaced the landmark. But my grandfather took a liking to the ring and wore it until he died. They say that the change in him after his father’s death was remarkable. He became the very devil himself. He lived a long time, my grandfather. He begot my father very late. He said once he did, he was doomed to die.”

“What does this ring do to you? Can you take it off?” Charles said. Will looked at him solemnly. With elaborate ceremony, he removed the ring from his finger and put it on the dish on his bedside table. 

For a moment, his form wavered as if Charles was seeing him through a curtain of smoke. He was not exactly like the demonic form that Charles remembered — no doubt the strange wines and candies he’d consumed at the initiation had shown him things that were heightened into impossibility. But Will had changed into something uncanny. When he smiled, he had too many teeth. When he reached for Charles, his embrace was like a grip of iron. 

And when he kissed Charles again, his tongue was very long and wet. When it was over, Charles was breathless and more than a little frightened.

“But you — you were wearing the ring that night,” Charles said, conscious of how quickly Will had divested him of his clothes, and his own. They were pressed together as tight as books on a shelf. Will blinked, as if he needed to recollect himself.

“The ring helps — but I have to always remember that I cannot be wicked. Sometimes, I forget that.”

Charles ran his fingers through Will’s thick, coarse hair — coarser now than before. His voice shook a little when he said, “You don’t need to restrain yourself with me. Will, I love you truly. I adore every side of you.”

“You shouldn’t,” was the abrupt reply. Will’s dark eyes flashed red. 

Charles caressed his face and said, tenderly, “But I do -- please let me love you as you deserve, Will.”

And Will let him do it. 

*

Charles had always considered himself a rather plain sort of chap, neither fair nor dark, not handsome nor hideous. He thought that he must have other attributes to recommend him, but it would be difficult to describe them without prompting. But now, he had a better idea of what sort of man he was. He was something to be _released._

Even as Will took hold of him, Charles marveled at how strong he was, how the heat of his body brought a corresponding flush to Charles' own. 

Every article of clothing they wore had been stripped off and thrown away, until they were bare of anything but themselves. The light came from a lantern on the bedside table — neither he nor Will had lit it — but it flared somewhat as soon as Will put his mouth on Charles’ cock. Charles was kneeling on the bed and Will had pushed himself in between his thighs.

Such was the length of his tongue — and perhaps the width of his mouth — that he was able to wrap his tongue around Charles’ prick and also lick interestedly at his taint.

Charles gasped and then sighed. He stroked himself as he could, but mostly he could only be helpless to the pleasure he was receiving. It felt as if he was being touched and caressed by more hands than just Will’s, and when he looked down to see what was the matter, he saw ropes — not physical, but spiritual — that seemed to bind him in place. He came abruptly and his spend trickled down and dropped on Will’s chest.

Will groaned. “I want to to fuck you so badly.”

“Please,” Charles said. He did not care if he was begging now. He felt weak enough to topple over and lay supine on the bed, letting Will kiss his face and his neck. “Do you have anything to ease — besides your tongue, I mean?”

“Do I need it?” Will asked roguishly. Charles pressed his hot face against the sheets and confessed that he did not. Will set upon him then, pushing apart his thighs and dipping his head down. His tongue was split like a snake’s and that was well enough. Charles sighed as he felt Will’s tongue press against his hole, and looked up. 

He saw — gathered around the bed were dozens of faces, insubstantial and grey — watching him with hungry eyes and mouths open and speaking, though he could not hear what they said. Will felt Charles tense over him and pulled backwards. 

“They won’t touch you,” Will assured him, running his hand across Charles’ side as if to soothe a high-strung horse.

“Who are they?” Charles gasped. The hands reached for him but seemed to melt away before they could reach him. 

“My family,” Will said. He let Charles go for a moment and sighed. He crawled over to the bedside table and yanked it open and began to ransack it. Charles continued to look at their audience, and behind them he saw the door open and Erskine’s pale face appear in the darkness. Charles smiled and beckoned to him but Erskine didn’t come nearer.

Will came back to him, his hands slick and smelling of almond oil. “Darling,” he said and kissed Charles. 

“We have a visitor,” Charles said as they found the right position, where Will’s cock — impossibly big, far longer and fatter than it was usually — pressed against his hole. “Do you mind?”

“No,” Will said, pressing his teeth, sharp fangs and all, into the flesh of Charles’ chest. “Let him join if he wants.”

Erskine cried out and Charles laughed and pressed himself down on to his lover’s hard prick. After the first penetration, he felt almost faint. He could not fit the whole of Will’s cock into him, but he wanted to so badly.

He only vaguely noticed Erskine pushing through the crowd and reaching them. He pulled at his clothes and reached out to touch them. Charles grasped his hand. “Suck my cock, dear Magnus.”

“Yes,” Erskine said and it was almost like a plea. It _was_ a plea — the most sincere thing Charles had ever heard come from his mouth. Will positioned them so that he could fuck into Charles just as Erskine lapped at his cock. 

They moved together supremely well — unlikely as it had seemed. Charles thought hazily, as Will hit something wonderful inside him, that his hunger could finally be sated. 

He came again in Erskine’s mouth and Erskine swallowed it, wiping his mouth clean. Will leaned over and kissed him roughly.

“My God,” Erskine said faintly, clutching at whatever part of Will he could keep hold of, even as his nails dug into Charles’ side. 

“No God, my dear,” Charles assured him, drunk with pleasure. “Only us.” 

*

How long had they been like this? Charles groaned as he woke up, pressed tightly against Will and Erskine. He had vague memories of goading Erskine to fuck him too, and laughing at how slick and open he’d become after the ravages of Will’s cock. 

Will sighed in his sleep and grasped Charles tighter. He’d gone back to normal, more or less. Charles leaned in to kiss his forehead before wiggling out of his embrace. He walked, naked and cold, to the fire and tried to light it again. It would not light. With a sigh, Charles tiptoed back to the bed. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and smiled wryly. Truly, he was a virgin ruined.

Somehow, he was not quite surprised to see the figure of the veiled man standing at the foot of the bed, waiting for him. Charles slipped into bed and threw a sheet over himself.

“You’re not one of the ghosts here, are you?” he said quietly. The veiled man shook his head once.

“Are you haunting me?” Charles said.

The veiled man nodded in assent. 

“Should I fear you?”

For a long time, the veiled man was still. Charles stared at him and fancied that through the crape he could make out the white of bone and two flares of infernal red. Slowly, the veiled man shook his head _no_.

“Are you my death?” Charles asked, but it was then that Erskine woke and asked what he was chattering about.

The ghost was gone.

*

Sir John’s funeral was a lightly attended affair. In addition to Reverend Vyse, Will, Charles and Erskine, there were only Dr. Lloyd and the bailiff, Mr. Wise. Perhaps it was the driving rain that kept the others away, perhaps not. 

Despite the downpour, the small party assembled by the grave site and listened to the reverend give the eulogy. The dead man had not been a believer and so the service was brief and somewhat perfunctory. Of all in attendance, perhaps it was only Will who felt more than a fleeting feeling of sadness for him. Charles hovered behind him but reminded himself sharply to hold back. He did not want to seem officious or overbearing.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” Reverend Vyse intoned, and finally the funeral was over. Will bent down and gathered a clump of dirt and threw it into the open grave. Charles went second. He noticed a second grave dug up besides Sir John’s, and once he had caught up to Will, he asked after it.

“It’ll be Forester’s when it’s done,” Will said. “I’ve bought and paid for it.” 

“Oh!” Charles said, startled. “Beside your mother?” 

“She isn’t buried here. Her family wished to take her to be interred in their vaults. My father was in no state to refuse them.” Will looked rather saddened at the thought of it. He looked around at the church yard and its surroundings, softened by the beating rain. “I don’t think I shall be buried here when it’s my time.” 

“It won’t be for many years,” Charles said, taking his hand. They shared a moment of quiet happiness together before Erskine bounded up to them. 

“Well, it’s a filthy day for it,” he said, “but you said that you had a ghost to lay, Sprouse. Are you still game for it?” 

“Yes,” Will said. “I’ve looked at the old plans and I think I know where the old landmark is. If we can replace it, pin it to the place, perhaps --” 

“We can hope, anyway,” Charles said with an encouraging smile, though he privately thought it was all a bit hopeless. But that morning, when Will had broached the plan with them -- well, he hadn’t the heart to refuse. 

Erskine, who had lost some of his spirit in the last few days, seemed to rally somewhat. “If you catch a cold and die, then you won’t even have to pay for an extra grave beside your father. Isn’t that marvelous?” 

*

At least the rain had dropped off by the time they reached the old boundary of the property. Ethan stayed behind with the horses and carriage. No doubt he thought them mad, though venturing to express that thought went beyond his willingness to speak. 

It was utterly quiet in the rain-drenched forest, save for the sound of their steps on the wet leaves. Will found the depression where the landmark had once been in a clearing -- it was well within the bounds of his property, according to all the papers. But still he stood and held forth awkwardly -- speaking both to Erskine and Charles, and to whatever restless spirits might be listening. 

If Charles had not himself witnessed such strange and awful sights as he had in the last few days, he would have doubted his friend’s sanity. As it was, he only doubted the efficacy of his pleas. Will’s family had been so long cursed. Could one apology in the rain undo it all? 

The dark was already gathering and Charles, who had been bending down to examine the place where the landmark had been, was about to suggest they go back to the house, when he noticed neither Will nor Erskine was speaking. They were watching something behind Charles. Slowly, Charles turned his head to see something dark and ragged crawl out of the woods. Erskine grabbed him roughly and pulled him out of the way. 

As soon as it reached the depression where the landmark was, Will sprang on it and thrust a stake into the ground, pining it. “Recite something,” he said sharply. “The Lord’s prayer or something. Quickly!” 

Every prayer that had ever been fled from Charles’ head. He could only stare helplessly as he watched Will struggle against the beast, which seemed to grow in size and stature, until it was his size or taller, though terribly thin and grey. 

Hesitatingly, Erskine began to recite his prayers before he broke off with a cry of frustration. “It’s no good. I don’t believe any of it.” 

“Then recite something you do believe,” whispered Charles. The shame he felt at his own inability was immense. He half-expected Erskine to laugh at him and demand why he couldn’t do it himself. But instead Erskine thought for a moment and began to recite _Hamlet._

“What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty! In form and moving how express and admirable! In action how like an angel --” 

And Charles threw himself into the fray, to save Will or to die with him. 

*

As the carriage neared the Ravens, Charles looked tiredly out of the window and saw that the house looked not in the least bit less haunted than it had before. It seemed like every window now reflected a pale and insubstantial face against the glass. “I don’t think it worked.” 

“Go to the station,” Will said. He was deathly pale and covered in mud and wet leaves. “There should be a night-train that stops on its way to London. Get on it and never come back.” 

“You will go with us,” Charles said strongly. “I won’t leave you behind.” 

“I belong here --” 

“If I’m going to be abandoning my luggage here,” Erskine said with an offended sniff, “you could be bothered to abandon your patrimony. Mine is arguably worth more.” 

And so they called Ethan to turn the carriage back to the station. Their awful and bedraggled condition led to great censure and staring from the conductor and passengers once the train came in, but they were not sensible to it. Instead, they sat together in the third class compartment, shoulder to shoulder and as silent as the grave. 

*

Mrs. Penderghast’s parlor was happily situated in what must have been the sunniest corner of England. Here, all was comfort and cheerfulness, though Mrs. Penderghast did reproach Charles for spilling tea on one of her husband’s old medical texts. 

“I am sorry, Aunt Sophy,” Charles said, “it’s only so very interesting to see how quickly things changed from Uncle Edward’s days to mine.” 

“Lord help us all,” Will declared from his spot next to the fire -- he preferred that spot, though the day was so hot. “You aren’t even fully a doctor yet and you say such things.” 

“I am very glad that Charlie has settled on something, even if it takes him to Edinburgh,” said Mrs. Penderghast with a smile. She poured another cup and handed it to Charles. The three of them had spent the afternoon in pleasant reminiscence, as the news that Will had been waiting for had come in from his solicitors. The sale of the Ravens had finally been completed. Its new owners -- a delightful American couple -- were expected to take possession any day now. Will was a very wealthy man now. 

“I did my due diligence,” Will had assured the two of them as soon as the news was revealed. “I told them that the house was haunted in the worst way, but it seemed as if it only made them want it more.” 

“I suppose they must find out for themselves,” Charles had said doubtfully before they lapsed into a thoughtful silence. 

There was a knock at the door and the maid peeked in to tell them they had a caller. Charles and Will exchanged glances as Mrs. Penderghast told Molly to show the gentleman in. 

Lord Erskine’s hair had regained all of its former glory, save for the fact that there was a streak of silver at his temple. It suited him extremely well. He presented himself for Mrs. Penderghast’s approval, praising her shortbread to the skies. 

“Once tasted, never forgotten, Mrs. Penderghast,” he said, kissing her hand before he took a seat next to her. 

“Oh my, but you are a rogue,” she said with a giggle that was wholly unlike her usual dignified demeanor. Charles rolled his eyes and rose from his seat to go over by the fire. He bent down to Will and said, “I think we should leave Erskine to make love to my aunt. I wish to speak to you in private.” 

“Yes,” Will said, putting a hand briefly on Charles’ thigh. “Soon.” 

There was a burst of laughter from the sofa where Mrs. Penderghast and Erskine were sitting. Charles sighed and straightened, looking at the mirror that hung over the fireplace. The reflection showed a scene of domestic bliss, of family, friends and lovers. The only thing that marred it was the dark shape of a veiled man dipping his skeletal finger into a hot cup of tea, which Erskine then picked up and sipped from. 

Charles saw and said nothing. He smiled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to El, for a beta!
> 
> Well, that’s it. Thanks for spiraling with me. I welcome any comments/kudos to take back to my ancient manse.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from A.E. Housman.


End file.
